


Moving

by writingfanficlikeabus



Category: Children's Hour (1961)
Genre: F/F, Post-Canon, also i live for bi karen, just a heads up for general sixties bigotry, there's a bit of homo/transphobia and racism here as well, tws for discussion of self harm and suicide, well i live for lots of things but bi karen is a significant one of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 04:25:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8607787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanficlikeabus/pseuds/writingfanficlikeabus
Summary: "There seems to be a wall in her mind preventing her from moving forward, so instead she refuses to settle, flitting about restlessly, desperately trying to escape her life, as it was." Karen deals with the emotional fallout of Martha's death.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i'm still not 100% sure of the title of this one tbh, but i've been wanting to post it for like a week so w/e

_The body swings, slightly, as it hangs from the rafters, and you only barely register the wet feeling on your face from the tears that now flow freely. It was easier, running to the house, because at least then there was a chance -_

_You always knew that you'd be too late, even when you first realised what she was going to try and do. You suppose the body will still be warm. If you had stayed at the house, or realised a little sooner, or done any number of the what ifs running through your brain, then she might be alive._

_But there's no point in wondering "what if…" The proof of your failure is right in front of you; the body of a dead woman you could have saved._

* * *

She wakes in a hotel room, a place somewhere in between what used to be home and whatever city she can find to hide herself in. It has to be a city; anywhere smaller has people who talk. A city is easier to hide in.

After a shower, she stares at herself in the mirror. There is a sadness in her eyes that wasn't there before everything that happened happened. She pretends not to notice and forces a smile onto her worn face. It looks brittle even to her.

Today she will go somewhere else. There seems to be a wall in her mind preventing her from moving forward, so instead she refuses to settle, flitting about restlessly, desperately trying to escape her life, as it was. Her history drags her down, plagues her with guilt. She knows it wasn't her fault, but it still feels like it was, that somehow she could've prevented it. On the day of the funeral (months ago, now), she had walked past all those who, in their way, condemned Martha to death. On that day, she held her head high and proud as she walked away. She wishes she had that strength with her now.

Perhaps she could go back to Joe, she thinks abstractedly as she boards yet another train to yet another destination. But, almost before the idea is fully formed in her mind, she dismisses it. Something _shifted_ in the world the day that Mary Tilford told that lie. Martha's confession had only deepened the change Karen now feels down to her bones. The image of her and Joe, together as they once were, no longer sits well on her troubled mind. As she stares out of the window, she wonders. 

Maybe the lie hadn't just held true for Martha.

Maybe she had been in love with _her_ as well.

It's awfully hard to figure out your emotions when the most vivid memory you currently associate with them is of your friend hanging from the end of a rope.

Karen watches the countryside go by and prays to God that one day she will heal.

* * *

As the days draw on, she tries not to think about it.

_(The idea echoes through her head constantly.)_

Life moves far too quickly, now, to stop and think. Some nights, she barely sleeps, but continues flitting around restlessly until the early morning, for fear of what her idle mind will create. She knows she should be practical (of course she should be practical. She had always been practical before!) but there's something stuck in her mind, dragging her down. She's not even sure she feels sad anymore, just empty, detached from the rest of the world. And the more she thinks about Martha, the more hollow she becomes. A shell of her former self, ready to shatter at any moment. 

* * *

Her money runs out somewhere in the middle of New York City. Karen knew it would, that if she kept moving, kept spending in a half-hearted attempt to fill a hole where a person should have been, she wouldn't be left with anything to survive. At the time of the funeral, she hadn't understood why Martha would do it. Now, she thinks she feels something similar: there is nothing in life that makes the weight of the world worth bearing. There is nothing to say that living will ever get easier.

But still, for some indefinable reason, she forces herself to go on. Maybe it's some sort of self-punishment for her failure, or an instinct of self-preservation that has reawakened somewhere in the back of her tired mind. Either way, she keeps walking, weaving her way through the city in the vague hope that she'll find somewhere that serves free food.

* * *

She's so absorbed in her own thoughts, and the waning believe that she'll find somewhere to eat, that she doesn't notice the woman walking towards her until she's crashed straight into her.

Amidst the flurry of apologies from both sides, the woman squints at Karen and says, "My God, woman, you look like hell!"

"I…uh…" Karen is so confused at someone showing concern for her that she forgets to reply for a moment. The last time she had someone _care_ was back when Martha was…(don’t think about Martha!) Her mind races as she desperately tries to find a sensible thing to say. Eventually, she settles on, "I don’t have any money."

The woman regards her coolly. "So what you're saying is, you expect a respectable woman to pave your way for you?"

"Oh, no, I didn't mean -"

"Relax! You can hole up at my place until you've enough money to get your own. I've got plenty of room."

Karen stares at her. "Are you sure? We've only just met."

"Look, do you want my help, or not?" The woman loops her arm around Karen's. "My name's Elizabeth Prince."

Karen barely manages to stammer out her own name in response before she's dragged off down the street.

* * *

Elizabeth is a powerful force. It's simply a matter of fact. She's black, for one, living in a fairly well-off, mostly white neighbourhood. And yet, despite the looks Karen notices her getting from their neighbours, it never seems to affect her. Karen asks her about it once, after she gets pulled aside by a particularly "concerned" old lady who seems to think that living with a black woman is some kind of hellish torment.

"Oh, it does affect me," Elizabeth says, taking a long drag from a cigarette. Smoke gently drifts to the ceiling. "But the moment they see you bow your head, the racists've won. You have to fight against hatred all the time, 'cos otherwise nothing's ever gonna change, and your own self-hatred just pushes down on you 'til you can't handle it." She watches Karen carefully. "You know, I tried to kill myself once. Slit my wrists and waited to bleed out."

"Why?" Karen asks, and tries not to think of the body she had seen hanging from the ceiling.

Elizabeth takes a deep breath. "Why? Well, I - " she cuts herself off and regards Karen carefully for a moment. "You got a problem with queers, Miss Wright?"

Karen almost jumps at how blunt the question is. She fidgets nervously for a moment. "I…no. No I don’t."

Elizabeth returns her focus to her cigarette. "That's good. You and me might've had problems of our own otherwise. Anyway, as I was saying: I tried to kill myself for a lot of reasons. Not least because of my many, many, issues with self-worth. I tell you, it's hard enough being black in America without having to deal with the world calling you a boy. See, _I_ knew I was a girl, but it seemed a lot like no one else would ever get that. But I survived, and I healed for the most part, even though you can still see the scars if you really look. That's what hate can push you to, is what I'm saying. So if you resist it, that's one less dead body that the people who hate you can gloat over."

Karen sits and thinks. Martha hadn't been able to resist it, and the truth of that seems to hit her every day when she wakes up, and sit, cold, in her stomach until she sleeps again. But maybe she could. Yes, that was it. She'd stay strong for the sake of Martha's memory. The rumour wouldn't destroy both of them.

* * *

 

Staying strong is harder than it usually sounds, she realises, as she stares at yet another letter of (reluctant-but-not-really) rejection. Karen has been writing in to places all around, hoping to find a job, but the story of the rumour has spread around the country, and no one seems willing to employ someone accused of  _sinful sexual behaviour._ She sighs loudly. Elizabeth glances up. "No luck?"

"None."

"I'll take you out tonight. Cheer you up."

Karen can feel herself turning pink. "That's very nice of you, but -"

"I have a girlfriend."

She goes pinker. It is true that the thought Elizabeth might be asking her on a date _had_ crossed her mind…

"Alright then," she says firmly. "Where did you have in mind?"

* * *

It's an out of the way place, the club they go to, and as soon as Karen enters she can see why. In a corner, one man is chatting calmly with another, one hand clutching a beer, the other sliding up his friend's thigh. Music is being played by a not particularly good band in the corner.

"You like women, Miss Wright?" Elizabeth is suddenly right next to her. Another woman - presumably her girlfriend - stands next to her. Their hands are intertwined.

"I don't know," Karen says honestly.

"Well, then," Elizabeth claps her hand on her shoulder. "Now's your chance to figure it out." And she's off, weaving her way through the crowd.

* * *

That night, Karen dances with men and women, people who are both or neither or I-don't-know or any number of other things. It means nothing, really, or it means everything, or maybe it's somewhere in between. At the end of the night she's exhilarated, high on the excitement of the night and the feeling of trying something new. When the last girl she dances with tries to kiss her, she momentarily doesn't resist. But then the memory of Martha flashes in her head, and suddenly it feels as though she's betraying her, and she pulls away, looks at the girl in mild panic for a moment, and runs out of the club.

* * *

She's shaking as she leaves the club. She takes a few deep breaths in the cold air, tries to fill her head with calm thoughts.

It's all interrupted when she hears a noise - the girl from the club. She looks concerned. Strange - Karen hadn't really thought of these people as having any emotions when they were all in the dimly lit club together.

"What's the matter?" The girl asks gently. She has a slight accent. Italian, Karen thinks. "Still hung up on an ex or something?"

Karen thinks about Martha, and all the hatred she had for herself in the hour before she committed suicide. She thinks about how she could have saved her, possibly.  
"Something like that," she says.

The girl sits down, her back against the wall, and motions for Karen to do the same. "You can tell me about it, if you want."

And Karen does. She cries, and feels awful, but when it's all over, life seems just a bit better than it did before. There's something surreal about venting your feelings to a stranger outside a gay club in the middle of the night, but nonetheless, it takes a weight off her chest that she'd almost become oblivious to, with how long it had sat there. And before she gets up to leave, she plants a kiss on the girl's cheek, and whispers a thank you in her ear.

* * *

Karen throws herself into the work of finding a job with more vigour than before. She even writes to Mrs Tilford (she told herself she'd never contact anyone in that town again!) to ask if the old lady could use her influence to secure her a position. She spends hours on the letter, trying not to sound accusatory ("it's because of _her_ that I'm like this," a voice at the back of her mind whispers discontentedly). When she's finally happy with the result, she addresses it, posts it, and _hopes._

The reply comes within a week.

It's short, but apologetic, and before she knows it enough strings have been pulled that barely one short interview is needed for her to be hired.

* * *

Elizabeth brings it up one day, as they sit quietly in the living room after supper.

"So," she says. "I suppose you'll be moving out, when you have enough money for a house of your own."

"I suppose I shall," Karen replies. There is a sort of wistfulness in her voice; she's so used to the way things are, now. She's even happy, a lot of the time - or at least far happier than she used to be, the months after Martha's death.

"I'll miss you, when you do," Elizabeth admits quietly, and the conversation ends for the moment.

* * *

Months go by. Karen teaches, saves, sometimes even visits the club Elizabeth showed her. Soon it's a year, almost two years, since Martha died. The memory of her rests bittersweet on Karen's mind; she still misses her, but it's no longer the pang it used to be, no longer so painful that it destroys all hopes of life. It used to be that she could only remember Martha as she last saw her, hanging from the end of the rope. A tragic end brought about by a damning lie. But now she thinks of Martha in all the brilliant time that she knew her, no longer a tragic symbol, but a beautiful, complicated human being. On the day she moves into her new house, she places the photo of the two of them - the picture of them smiling in their graduate gowns - on the mantelpiece. Karen smiles at it, and she feels like she has finally healed.

**Author's Note:**

> so um my love of the children's hour awoke in full force a few weeks ago and this is the result. here's hoping it's actually...good and stuff.


End file.
